


Handle with care

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Word of the day [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bruises, Complete, Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski Bonding, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Family Bonding, Hags, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Misunderstandings, Monster of the Week, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Protective Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Derek/Stiles Relationship, Stiles Has Nightmares, but it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is hurt by a hag, Derek takes care of him, and the Sheriff misunderstands the bruises he sees on Stiles' neck the next morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle with care

**Author's Note:**

> Word of the day: dactylogram  
> (Noun; a fingerprint)

Stiles woke up sore, aching, and bruised. He'd been hurt while running from a hag the night before, and the old ugly bitch had thought it would be a good idea to grab him around the neck, lift him off the ground and try to induce a nightmare in his waking mind, her fingers and long sharp nails digging into his skin. She was a hag, he was a mere human, so of course, her idea had worked completely. Stiles had felt oxygen sucking out of his lungs and chest, his eyes burning as he scrabbled at her hands futilely, and a nightmare formed in his mind. He was forced to see his loved ones dying over and over again, some of them already dead and gone, but others alive and dying.

Just as he saw Derek dying, the hag had been ripped away from Stiles abruptly, leaving him gasping for air. He was unable to move from where he was, frozen to the spot, his body shuddering and shivering in the aftermath of his waking nightmare, but not responding to his need and desire to get the fuck out of there. The hag was torn to pieces before his eyes, but Stiles barely saw it, still stuck in his nightmare. Then Derek was in front of him - alive, breathing, golden eyed, even if he was still covered in blood like he had been in Stiles' nightmare - and Stiles blinked once, twice, when Derek wrapped his arms around him. Derek murmured softly, trying to calm his shivering body, and eventually had to carry Stiles over to the Jeep.

Stiles had come out of his stupor when they were almost home, having a panic attack just as Derek turned the corner into the street. He had begged Derek to pull over, barely managing to open his car door before throwing up. Stiles had closed the door, mumbling an apology to Mrs. Kibbitch's lawn under his breath, and Derek had driven him down to the house. He had started shivering again and didn't have the energy to protest when Derek carried up to the house and inside gently. His father wasn't home and wouldn't be until morning, and Stiles had been so tired and scared, his mind and energy drained, that he'd begged Derek to stay with him, refusing to let go of his hand. If he let go of Derek, then the nightmare would return, and this wouldn't be real. Derek would be dead, and he'd still be under the hag's thrall, Stiles was sure of it.

Stiles must have babbled all of this out loud, his mouth not filtering his brain properly - or at all, really - and Derek just nodded. He cleaned them both up in the bathroom, Stiles leaning against Derek's back, too tired to stand on his own, as Derek washed the hag's blood from his hands and body. Then he turned around, moving them both so that Stiles was in front of him, and Derek held him up carefully, brushing his teeth gently. Stiles remembered spitting and rinsing, barely remembered being carried back to his room effortlessly, and the very last conscious memory was of Derek sliding his arm around his waist as they both settled in to bed.

Considering everything he'd gone through the night before, Stiles was surprised he didn't feel worse. He suspected that Derek had leeched some of his pain over the course of the night, and while he couldn't remember it happening, Stiles was damn glad that he had. He sighed and turned in Derek's embrace, snuggling up close to his chest and letting himself drift off to sleep again.

When Stiles woke up again a few hours later, Derek was no longer in his bed, and he could hear his father in the kitchen downstairs. He remembered the bacon that had been kept in the freezer for a special occasion and bolted out of bed, running downstairs before his body reminded him that moving - let alone moving fast - was a very bad idea. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, groaning in pain, vaguely realising that Derek had stayed and was still here, cooking something at the stove. His groan of pain was enough to make his father turn from the kitchen island to look over at him.

"Stiles?! What happened? What did you do?" he snarled, grabbing Derek by the arm fiercely.

"No, Dad! Dad, he didn't do this. Ow, fuck. Shit. He didn't. There was a hag," Stiles said, his voice wheezy.

He waved Derek over, who looked somewhat terrified, but slipped out of the Sheriff's grip and over to Stiles, touching his shoulder and leeching his pain as gently as possibly. When he felt like he could talk again, Stiles held Derek's hand where it was, and returned his attention to his father once more.

"The hag was kind of stalking me last week, giving me nightmares - well, more than usual, at least - that sort of thing. I figured out what happened because those nightmares were insane. I mean, she was one twisted fuck; I am going to have trouble sleeping for years now that bitch has had her claws in me. Feels like I've got a perfect set of dactylograms around my fucking neck, and probably looks it too," Stiles added, still too incensed and pained to limit his swearing. "Derek killed her last night and drove me home. He took care of me and I'm pretty sure he spent most of the night leeching my pain," he added, glancing to the dark circles and general weariness that seemed to exude from Derek this morning.

Derek blushed a bit, not meeting Stiles' gaze, and pulled away from him to check on the stove.

"Okay... I'm sorry about that, son. I just get a bit protective of Stiles, and I've seen far too many people dismiss physical abuse. I'm glad I don't have to shoot you," the Sheriff said.

Derek nodded firmly. "So am I, sir."

Stiles seemed pleased that everything would be all right now, and moved to plonk his butt at the kitchen island. "So, what's for breakfast?"

"Egg whites on wholemeal toast. With salt-reduced butter," Derek added.

The Sheriff winced, sighed a long-suffering sigh, and moved to sit beside his son. "I can't believe you've already got him cooking healthy for you, kid."

"It's for you, not me," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"You keep telling yourself that, kid. Now, how much ketchup am I allowed to put on my eggs?"

"None," Stiles and Derek chorused.

The Sheriff muttered about conspiracies under his breath; Derek relented, letting him have a single teaspoon of ketchup.

Stiles still felt awful, his throat held the hag's marks and bruises for two straight weeks, and every night Derek chose to stay with Stiles to help him control the pain and ease his nightmares.

Three weeks later, long after Stiles' bruises had faded and his nightmares gave way to his normal night terrors, the Sheriff came home to find Derek's car still sitting in his driveway. Derek must have heard him arrive and was obviously trying to escape unseen, but the Sheriff had sharper eyes than that - even after a double shift at the station - and could hardly have missed a half-naked man trying to climb out of his son's bedroom window. It seemed that nervous werewolves were just as fallible as the rest of the human population.

"I think I'll have those egg whites with a rasher of bacon this morning, son," the Sheriff called, smirking up at him a little.

Derek sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, pulling himself back up into Stiles' room.

The Sheriff chuckled to himself as he went inside. Now, he just had to get his son and his son's boyfriend to agree to the ketchup.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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